


Little Fish

by TheVineSpeaketh



Category: Left 4 Dead 2
Genre: Angst, Explicit Language, Gen, Implied Character Death, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2013-06-02
Packaged: 2017-12-13 18:46:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/827601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheVineSpeaketh/pseuds/TheVineSpeaketh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Nick stared at the rain dripping beyond the tin roof hanging over his head, he thought about death and its finality. He thought about the little fish he saw swimming in the rising waves, no doubt having come from a small pond over yonder that had overrun into the fields and he knew that they, too, would die, just as he would die, and Rochelle would die, and Coach would die. Because once the block was chipped once, just once, the armor was useless, and he knew it. With their group already falling apart, it could only collapse further from here. </p><p>Half-inspired by GeminiStep's "Safe Room Wall", half-inspired by the song "Where is My Mind?" by Yoav featuring Emily Browning. This is depressing stuff, so don't read unless you want to angst something out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Fish

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Safe Room Walll](https://archiveofourown.org/works/190212) by [GeminiStep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeminiStep/pseuds/GeminiStep). 



With the thick, ominous clouds blanketing the sky and removing the sunlight from the world, and the downpour draining the color from the surrounding landscape, the world truly seemed as if it was enjoying one late, endless funeral procession.

That's the way Nick felt, anyway, and nothing around him could change it. The world had ceased turning some while ago, and long before that, it had gone to hell. Even with undead walking the earth and infected people collapsing dead at his feet, he had at least assumed the world continued turning, because the sun rose and set every day. Now, though, with the way things were turning out, he could've sworn it had stopped altogether.

Rochelle and Coach were talking, and even though they were only a few feet behind him in the safehouse, and the door was wide open, he still couldn't hear them clearly, as if they were miles away. He half blamed it on the cacophony of the storm raging on the tin roof over his head, and half blamed it on the roaring silence inside his head. For once he wasn't thinking of anything, but it was a louder thought than he had ever been accustomed to, and it rendered him mute. He was out on the porch, beyond the safehouse door, staring into the rain that had started pouring when they had stepped foot into the safehouse. At least, that's what Rochelle and Coach would say, since the sprinkles had barraged them all the way to the door, and the downpour had only started once they got it closed. If you asked Nick, the northerner would say that the rain started falling the minute they realized that there were only three people inside the safehouse, when there should have been four.

The rain had started creating small rivulets in the ground by the time he had stepped outside, and Rochelle had used the scope of her rifle to see if she could spot anything moving in the distance. Nick had never felt quite so frantic, never felt quite so cold even as the hard southern rain ripened the earth for life, slightly warm from the afternoon sun left shaded behind its clouds. He had tried to wander off into the field, the infected be damned, but Coach had pulled him back, telling him there was nothing out there, and that they couldn't risk it in the oncoming storm. Rochelle's defeated frown as she lowered her rifle only made Nick's desperation worse, but his determination deflated all at once with that one simple look. Then, he had simply sat down where he was, his two magnums collapsing on the ground next to him, but if it disturbed him, he didn't care. Rochelle and Coach had stood there a moment, staring out into the wild as if waiting for him to appear. Then, one by one, they had gone inside.

Twice since then, Rochelle had tried to coax him to eat something, to take a health pack and patch up, but in the end, he'd remained silent, looking out over the rising waters. She had administered first aid herself, moving his compliant yet unresponsive limbs so she could heal him. After a while they quit asking if he was hungry, or if he was cold, and Coach had simply said that after the rain stopped, they could turn back and look a while, but then they had to move on. Nick knew as much as he did that there was little chance of them finding anything worth finding out there, or anything that didn't reinforce what had already become a solid truth. 

As Nick stared at the rain dripping beyond the tin roof hanging over his head, he thought about death and its finality. He thought about the little fish he saw swimming in the rising waves, no doubt having come from a small pond over yonder that had overrun into the fields and he knew that they, too, would die, just as he would die, and Rochelle would die, and Coach would die. Because once the block was chipped once, just once, the armor was useless, and he knew it. With their group already falling apart, it could only collapse further from here. 

He knew he shouldn't have been quite that upset, and to be honest, he wasn't. He had been expecting this kind of shock after he realized that damn the consequences, he had grown attached to these people. He had been instantly aware that he would feel this kind of aching when he had felt the urge to use his first aid kit on a limping Coach who had just tossed back a couple of pain killers. He had known that this would burn going down when his many renditions of the phrase 'Shut up, Ellis' had turned peeved yet affectionate instead of downright annoyed.

He just wondered where it was that he was going to die. The minnows swam by the edge of the near-rotting boards of the porch, and he wondered how, when, and why he was going to die. He suspected if he was next in line, it was going to be from distracting a special infected, like a tank or a charger, so that someone else could scrape by. If he was next after that, the second to last survivor, he imagined he would die because his first aid kit would be used on them, instead of him, and he would charge the fray to help them back to their feet, if only to lose balance on his own.

If he was last, he knew he would die at the edge of an alley with a bullet in his head, because nobody deserved to live through this hell alone, not even himself. He knew this because once when he had been trying to scare Ellis, he had told him all sorts of details from his sordid past in an attempt to get the kid to stop caring so much. But Ellis had simply smiled and pat his shoulder and said, "S'okay, Nick. All that don't mean nothin' anymore. Y'know I'm still gonna go back for you if you're treadin' water, 'spite all that stuff you jus' tol' me. No matter what, I got you."

He supposed, in light of what Ellis had said, what hurt most about this was that he wasn't able to do the same for Ellis, even though he knew, given the chance, he most likely would have. If he had seen a hunter jump on him as they were rounding the corner, he knew he would have dropped everything and sprinted back, emptying both magnums into the stupid thing and all the infected that crowded around it. He knew he would have leaned down and grabbed Ellis' arm, hoisting him to his feet, and would have probably handed him his gun back, and stuck close to him as they made their way back to Rochelle and Coach. He knew he would have done the same if it was a charger, or a tank, or even a witch. He knew what these feelings meant, too, but he knew it was too little too late.

The little fish were still swimming by the edge of the porch, as if the dip in the ground beneath them broke the waves, and in the rain, they found happiness. Nick, of course, could find no happiness here, not unless through the rain a yellow-shirted mechanic happened to appear, heading for the safehouse. Then, maybe, he could take a chance, and tell him how he never meant it to hurt when he called him 'Overalls', and how much it meant to him when he said that none of it mattered, and how he had discovered that precious feeling when he had the full brunt of the mechanic's smile turned on him.

The rain gave away no secrets, though, and Nick knew it was because there was nothing to reveal. Nothing except the torn remains of a yellow shirt, a pair of tied-off overalls, and a well-worn, ever-loved, blood-stained hat. 

Nick groaned, burying his head in his hands, damning those fish at his feet, wishing he could pour gasoline into the water and light the surface, burning the whole fucking world using this flood. He would even jump in after he threw the match, drowning in flame, and then all the rain could give to remind the world of him were the charred remains of a suit that once costed three-thousand dollars, a few scraps of leather that once resembled fine shoes, and all the damns he pretended not to give.

Too little too late, indeed. But going on was his only choice, because it had been Ellis' only choice, looking after Rochelle, occasionally supporting Coach's weight when his knee blew out, giving Nick a bottle of pills and patting him on the back. Nick knew he couldn't recover the last scraps of his optimism and wear them as if they were his own, but he knew he could at least attempt to be as supportive. Because Nick knew that was what Ellis would have wanted, and anything Ellis would have wanted, he was glad to give. Especially now.

Rochelle peeked her head out of the safehouse, looking at him with concern in her eyes. He knew he must look ridiculous, grasping onto his hair and curling into himself, pulled tight like a lunatic trying to silence the voices in their head. But if Rochelle thought he was insane, she didn't show it, her eyes full of empathy. She moved toward him, kneeling next to him. For a while, they sat there, silence their only companion, before she reached up, gently prying his fingers from his hair one by one. When she released both his hands, she put her hand under his chin, turning his head. His tears were unmistakable, his nose slightly red, and her expression tightened. She pulled him to her, resting his head on her chest, his ear to her collarbone. Her arms wrapped around him gently, and he allowed it, his pride, for once, gone.

In the world beyond, the rain continued to fall, the tin roof still tapping its erratic song, the rivers growing. The clouds were endless, shrouding the world in its own veil of translucent black. And all the while, just beyond their feet, the little fish kept swimming, searching for home.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this because it's raining, and I'm having a physically and mentally crap day. Plus, I just love Nellis, and I wanted to do something that was borderline Nellis, but maybe not. Just trying to ease my way into a new fandom. Thanks for the reads. :)
> 
> Come visit me on [tumblr!](http://exacteyewriting.tumblr.com)


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